


The Pain I Feel, I Feel Alone

by bootsonbutts



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootsonbutts/pseuds/bootsonbutts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter goes grocery shopping.  Wade does, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so, because a lot of people liked the one-shot (????) i decided to go ahead and make this a multi-chaptered fic!  
> crazy  
> so i guess we'll just play it by ear uwu

Honestly? Peter just wanted to get the eggs. He had gone to the grocery store with that exact intention: Get the eggs, see if that cute girl's working at the Starbucks (and avoid that area of the store at all costs if so), maybe rent a movie from Redbox on his way out. But now he finds himself standing in the middle of the dry breakfast aisle, unintentionally hindering the other shoppers with his absolutely cantankerous shopping cart while he stares at the rows of boxes of bright and sugary cereal.

The college student reaches for a box of seasonal Cap'n Crunch, but immediately draws his gloved hand away with a small cringe and lets the box continue its vigil on the shelf to prepare for a little kid to grab. No. No Cap'n Crunch, especially the Christmas kind; it gets soggy at a significantly faster rate than the original, and the Christmas tree berries are all but mushed blobs of sugar and corn-oat mutations after five minutes. Peter's ridiculously picky about breakfast, and even more so when he has limited options. _Ooh, what about Honey Comb? It's been, like, fifteen years since I had that._

" _Excuse me_."

The petulant snipe of a housewife trying to get by Peter wrenches him away from his thoughts, and he struggles to move his cart in order to let her through. His head ducked, he grabs the first box of cereal he sees that's near to him before wrestling his cart up the aisle and turning it to finally get his eggs; it's only when he's already at the refrigerated section dedicated to eggs and butter that he sees the cereal he selected is Kix. _It just_ had _to be Kix._

Glancing over his shoulder, Peter's breath catches in his throat: a man stands not more than a hundred feet away, his broad back facing him as the man snags a pack of shredded cheese off its rack and flings it carelessly into his cart, filled to the wireframe brim with an array of junk foods and frozen dinners. The sight of the multiple packs of frozen Mexican foods scattered throughout the man's cart causes Peter to roll his eyes before he even realizes he's staring. Peter turns away quickly, struggling to leave that area of the store before the man can see him. He _cannot_ see him. Not in this public place, where there are children at risk of hearing Wade's brazen remarks upon seeing Peter for the first time in three years.

And it isn't that Peter's trying to avoid him. -Well, he _is_. But his intentions are good. Were it any other way, he'd be much more tolerable of seeing Wade; this "any other way" meaning if they ran into each other, the both of them wearing their suits, while no actual crime is being fought. Peter's reluctance to greet Wade is justified anyways, the young man reflects, currently wandering around the home decor department as he waits for an opportunity to retrieve his much needed eggs. Every time the two of them have met, their little reunions end foully. Peter gets ahead of himself, they both lose the sense of reality, and Wade vanishes. Every. Time.

Peter tightens his grip on his cart's handlebar as he tries to block memories, a sick churning in his stomach causing his heart to chill momentarily. None of this was really fair. It never has been, and most likely never will be. When Peter allows his heart to speak for him, nothing but deadening emptiness ensues.

When he believes the coast to be clear, the young man makes his way back to the refrigerated poultry, bending down to check a styrofoam carton for any cracked shells. Nothing's really been the same for Peter since that day three years ago. Though it pains him to think of it, he could easily say that Wade remains unaffected. The man's crazy, dangerous. Ridiculously complex. Peter wasn't the first to enter the mercenary's scarred heart, and he realized a little too late that Wade's love differs greatly between his sparse...

Peter stops short, staring at the stamped white eggs he's holding in his hands. Would he consider himself an ex of Wade's? _Would he dare?_

He draws in a sharp breath, closing the carton with shaky hands before setting it into his cart. This is pathetic. Making his way to check-out, Peter gives himself a mental beating for even letting Deadpool force his way into his thoughts again after all this time; Wade doesn't deserve that kind of satisfaction. Wade doesn't deserve _him_.

And yet he feels sorry for the son of a bitch as soon as that thought enters his mind. Peter sighs, forcing a small smile in the general direction of the cashier before paying for his minimal groceries and lifting them off of the platform. _God, do I hate that man,_ he seethes, heading outside with the groceries. Wade Wilson. He _hates_ him. _What did I ever see in him? ___

But before he can even make it off of the sidewalk to cross the street, a calloused hand grabs Peter's arm. It's freezing, and together his jacket and coat create two inches of insulation, but he recognizes the grip instantly. He halts in his step, turning slowly to look up at Wade. The larger man wasn't wearing his suit - well, as far as Peter knows, he might be wearing it under his coat, and he's deeply in need of a quick shave; his blonde stubble frames his scarred jaw, and Peter traces it with his hazel eyes before they lift to meet Wade's blue ones. All at once Peter's mouth grows dry, but he can't look away. _He can't_.

The two of them stand like that for a long moment: Peter half-turned towards Wade, Wade's hand on Peter's arm, the both of them chilled to the bone from the bleak morning's temperature. Until Peter finally clears his throat, stammering a dry, gravelly "I hate you."

Wade doesn't have to be told twice. He pulls Peter against him in one easy tug, wrapping a thick arm around the young man's waist before forcing his lips on Peter's. The smaller, leaner man's body molds against the muscular frame of the older's naturally, and Peter returns the almost aggressive kiss, his gloved fingers curling against Wade's neck as his tongue grazes over the other's front teeth.

_Fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

Peter Parker, college student and theatrical vigilante, stands in his small kitchen staring at the cookbook propped up against the wall next to the oven. Lined up on the counter are the ingredients he's gathered for his cake: box mix, sugar, oil... What's he missing? He groans when it hits him, punishing himself by head butting the cabinet in front of him. _Eggs._ He used all his eggs for breakfast and risky juggling. 

A week has passed since he last saw Wade, but the older man still hasn't attempted to leave Peter's mind since he was rejected in Target's parking lot. Peter knows deciding to stay away from Wade is what's best for him - for _both_ of them; even so, fleeting desires of the sensations brought by the mercenary's arms wrapped around the young man's waist, rough skin on smooth, haunt him incessantly.

These emotions downright annoy Peter, to say the least. _Why him? Of every freak- out of every relationship I've ever been in, why does_ Wade _top my Would-Bang List?_ The young man pulls on his shoes, stuffing his laces into his sneakers to save time and energy before grabbing his coat off the back of the kitchen chair. _Take a walk. You need to clear your head. Then get the eggs and bake the damn cake already. Frickin' procrastinator._ He rolls his eyes towards his own self, checking his coat pocket for his wallet before stepping out of his apartment for some air. For someone hardly worth the trouble, Wade causes a _lot_ of trouble.

"Hey. Oh, this is where you live? Crazy. I never knew." Deadpool grins down at Peter, blocking the smaller man from leaving the apartment with his big frame. "You gotta sec?"

"No," Peter deadpans, trying to slip past the masked adversary without too much physical contact. He fails terribly, and he knows it before he even makes a move.

Wade grabs Peter's shoulder, pressing it to the peeling apartment hall wall to hinder him from escaping. "Sure ya do," he suggests, a little too chirpy for comfort, examining Peter from behind his face mask. Peter stands absolutely still, his body rigid under Wade's calloused hand. When Wade leans towards him, Peter leans back, until his head's pressed against the grimy wall and he can't get any further away.

"Stop. Stop it, Wade." Peter bites the inside of his cheek as he glances away, giving himself a mental kick in the balls for sounding so pathetically desperate. He hates the man. He _hates_ him! and yet he wants him so _bad_. He wants Wade's lips on his, wants to watch Wade's every scar develop and heal. He craves for Wade's body pressed against his, providing him with a deep warmth in bed and everywhere else. He hungers for the rumble of Wade's laugh, thirsts for the quirk of Wade's smile. He needs Wade's love, but that's something he knows he cannot have. "Wade..."

Peter's voice trails off when he turns to look at him, realizing that although he can make an entire essay's worth of arguments and accusations, he really doesn't want to right now. The conflicted college student has no idea what he wants, but he knows it's not any of that. Not right now. Instead, he meets Wade's eyes, dragging his dry tongue over his bottom lip as he trails his gloved hands up Deadpool's sides, up Deadpool's chest, up the sides of Deadpool's neck to tug gently at Deadpool's mask and expose Wade Wilson's scruffy jaw. Peter can't help but smirk lightly, murmuring with a tilt of his head, "You still haven't shaved..."

"Don't you like it that way? I think I remember you sayin' you like it that way." Wade leans forward again, and this time Peter doesn't shy away. With his mask pulled up to his scarred nose Wade kisses the slender cord of muscle in Peter's neck, sucking the boy's smooth skin and even eliciting from Peter a whisper of a moan when he uses his teeth, his hands finding their way to Peter's waist.

Peter's hazel eyes drop to half mast, but he snaps to full consciousness when he realizes what's going on: the two of them are standing in a public hall, and Peter's already nearly half hard. "Wade, no- we can't. Stop." He curls his fist against the small of Wade's back when the larger man's only response is to drift lighter kisses up his neck to reach his jaw, Peter huffing with frustration as he tries to stand up fully against Wade's weight. "/Wade/. Please. I need to get eggs."

" _Eggs?_ Bitch, what you need is sperm. _My_ sperm. _Down your throat_."

Peter cringes, finally just pushing Wade away and ducking out of his reach quickly, turning up his coat's collar as he heads for the metal staircase leading outside. Only when he's on the sidewalk and has confirmed he isn't being followed does he calm down a little, but his face still burns with the heat of raw embarrassment; Wade is hard to fully comprehend sometimes, but other times he can be read like a book. _God, why am I such an idiot?_ Peter clenches his jaw, kicking a flattened soda can and watching it skitter in a small bout of rage. Wade doesn't care about him. _Did he ever?_ The New York vigilante scoffs, knowing the answer before he can even ask himself the question: _no_. What Wade cares about is nothing that has to do with Peter as an individual; Peter _knows_ this, and yet he still falls for the mercenary's illusion of affection as a dog would lick up a spoon of peanut butter, with full knowledge of the consequences, at every chance it has.

A visit to Mary Jane's is believed to be in order.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~asdhfkk;//,,, omg guys  
>  im really glad you like this work so much and idk how else to say it except in a note?????? ok bye,,,',~~

"Pete, I pray for you." Mary Jane re-enters her modern and very roomy living room, setting a mug of hot chocolate on her glass top coffee table in front of Peter where he sits on her couch. Her couch is significantly more comforting than he usually finds it to be, his gloved hands running over its thick white canvas hide as he nods numbly in response to her playful jab, staring at his clean-painted ceramic mug.

Mary Jane sighs, sitting down on the couch beside him at a friendly - but notably safe - distance, holding her own mug in her lap. "In all seriousness, Peter, you're playing with fire."

Peter shoots her a look, but her concerned countenance persuades him to hold back a bold remark. He shrugs weakly, ducking his head as he rubs the back of his neck. Mary Jane has a tendency to lighten hardships with jokes, and her preferred means of dealing with heavy emotions and trying problems is to ignore them completely until forced to confront them; the fact that his ex is discussing this issue with him upfront and without much reluctance brings him more dismay than relief. If Mary Jane Watson can't ignore a problem, that problem is a _damn big problem_.

"I- I didn't mean for anything to happen. I didn't mean for... _this_... to happen. It was three years ago and I- I dunno. I wanted it to end three years ago," Peter finally manages, lifting his hazel eyes to meet Mary Jane's. "I never intended for anything to get so serious. But-" He scoffs, leaning forward to grab his mug and take a fast swig of the hot beverage before continuing, "With Wade, absolutely _nothing_ is serious! and I can't stop thinking about him, even though I want to stop and I _know_ without a shadow of a doubt he never thinks about _me_..." Another glance in Redhead's direction causes Peter's voice to trail away, yet he finds it again a moment later only to murmur, "...And I know this must be so weird for you to hear. I'm sorry."

She shakes her head quickly, and yet Peter still can't relax enough to let his back rest against the cushion of her couch. "I'm your friend, Pete. It _is_ weird, I'll give you that, but if I can help you you can be sure I will." She offers him a warm smile, it broadening when he sighs in response and slowly sits back. "Helping you's gonna be a hell of a process, though."

He chuckles, and it's real. "Yeah. I know. _I_ don't even know what I want, MJ." And honestly, he'd rather not find out. To want isolation is suicide in Peter's line of work, but allowing Wade into his heart would cause a war. There is no middle ground, either: Peter offered up that option when he first got in bed with the mercenary. Wade feels the need to be the center of attention of everything, and now that he and Peter are more or less back on speaking terms he will be sure to fight his way into Peter's everyday life. Peter turns to look at his old friend, his smile fading quickly. "I've... Done a lot of things that I regret now, in retrospect. I'm not exactly sure what's gonna end up happening between Wade and I, but I know it's gonna end ugly."

"I'm no couples counselor, but it's easy for me to see that your relationship with Wade isn't exactly healthy." Mary Jane raises her eyebrows, dipping her head to sip her hot chocolate. "Those kinds of relationships don't tend to end prettily, Tiger. I guess what I would do, if I made the very, very horrible mistake of seeing Wade Wilson as anything other than an insane psychopath with an obsession with melee weapons and the creepiest fetishes-"

"-Go on?"

Mary Jane laughs, and for a split second Peter's heart clenches with the regret of ever doing anything to make his best friend cry instead of laugh. Mary Jane Watson has a beautiful face, and an even more beautiful voice. Other actresses, he'd imagine, hate her, and for all the right reasons. She's truly incredible.

"What I was going to say, before you very rudely interrupted me, was that you should just go and talk to him." She holds up a hand, stopping Peter before he can attempt to argue. "Force him to listen to you, and just _talk it out_ , Peter. From what you've told me half of your problems come from lack of communication. Explain to him what you want and don't want. And because he's Wade, give him an ultimatum. He needs one to get the picture- and if _you_ don't slap him in the face, _I will_." She watches Peter, her green eyes searching him for some sense of promise that, yes. He'll make this relationship work. He'll fight for it, and if he loses that fight it was worth losing for. "I want you to be happy, Pete."

She had whispered it, but as far as Peter is concerned she could have held him over a building and screamed it in his face. _I want you to be happy, Pete._ He glances at her, sees her studying her mug, her red hair pulled back but falling out of her ponytail around the edges of her face where her hair's cut the shortest. _But I also want what's best for you. I_ don't _want you with Wade. I'd rather slit my wrists with a butter knife than offer you this advice, but because you want it I'll give it to you. Because I want you to be happy._ I want you to be _happy_ , Pete.

The young man leans over and gives his past neighbor a quick, platonic kiss on the cheek. When his past grade school crush turns to him with a faint smile he shifts to press his lips to hers in a full kiss, his grip on his mug tightening. His past girlfriend pulls away immediately, her red brow furrowed and her voice sharp when she chastises, "Stop it, Peter. You're confused."

"I am." He meant for it to be a question, an "I am? _Am I_ confused," but when his response sounds factual to his own ears his head starts to swim. He presses the heel of one hand to his temple as he sets his hot chocolate down, his thick eyebrows pinching together as he nods. "I am. I'm confused. I'm so _fucking confused_ , MJ." When his voice cracks he doesn't try to hide it, only lifting his head to look at Mary Jane; when his breath hitches a moment later he only embraces the tears burning his eyes, and doesn't fight Mary Jane when she pulls him into a tight hug. _I'm so confused. I'm fucking lost._ The college student returns the hug gratefully, his fingers curling against his current friend's shoulder as his lungs seize with controlled sobs. "I don't know what to do, MJ! I love Wade..."

Mary Jane rubs Peter's back soothingly, tilting her head slightly to allow him more room to cry into her shoulder. She kisses the top of his head, but to reassure herself rather than him. "It's okay, Bugboy," she murmurs calmly, focusing her gaze on Peter's mug. "I don't think anyone else knows, either." She frowns slightly as she studies the mug sitting on her coffee table, but after a moment lets the thought past and rests her cheek on Peter's head, continuing to rub his quaking back.

The ceramic mug is authentic, and hand painted. It was given to Mary Jane Watson years ago, back when she was a senior in high school, by a scrawny nerd of a boy who had a very steady hand and a knack for home ec. The mug is red inside and out, graced with delicate wisps of black paint that weave together to form a web. She had meant to throw it out three years ago.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so,,, ,,  
> ive decided that this will be the last chapter of this teeny fic which explains why its pretty small in comparison to the others  
> sorry to those of you who were expecting a huge deal!! this was originally intended to be a one-shot about peter buying eggs. so  
> thank you so much for your support!!!,,! i feel kind of cheap,, like I'm putting everyone down or something????  
> but i think this is a good stopping point.  
> enjoy!!!'!

Peter Parker walks down the sidewalk in Queens with his hands stuffed in his coat's pockets, his head ducked, his eyes and cheeks feeling raw and frozen after having cried to his best friend over the shithead he calls Wade. With how cold it is outside Peter doesn't stand out from the other New Yorkers hurrying down the brisk sidewalks. He turns a corner, and when his hazel eyes land on his apartment building three blocks down the fluttering flop of his stomach makes him feel like he'll vomit. Knowing Wade, he's still there. Waiting for him.

_And, knowing me_ , the college student proposes dreadfully, _he won't want to talk._

Wade is a man of few words, but those shoes don't seem to fit him; he's the type of guy who has something to say about anything, whether it's necessary or not, and will talk to anyone. Even, Peter muses, himself at times. Though he can make great conversation with the voices in his head, when it comes to speaking face to face with someone on a matter of importance Wade's communication skills fall considerably short. Often times in the past, when Peter would try to get Wade to open up, he'd only reply with a joke and then shut him out for a few hours.

So, if Peter's going to do this- if he's going to follow MJ's advice, he needs to do it right. He has one shot. Therefore, when the college student crosses the street to duck into a convenience store, he has motive.

  


* * *

  


As soon as Peter steps into his apartment he has to step out, grab a breath of fresh air, and then walk in again. It's apparent by the acrid stench and destructive state of his kitchen - not to mention the suffocating gray smoke - that Wade tried and _failed_ at baking pancakes while Peter was away. Peter's only response to the mess is a soft sigh as he sets his grocery bags down on the only spot of clean countertop.

"Wade? Are you still here..?"

A moment later Wade's unmasked head pokes out of the open doorway, the man cringing as if he only just remembered the hell he released in the next room. "I was gonna clean it, I swear on my ass."

Peter raises his eyebrows, his gaze drifting from Wade to the mess and back again. _Bye bye, cake._ "And your excuse is..."

"Uh.. -I got bored." The older man walks into the kitchen, his wide shoulders hunched as he scratches the back of his blond head. "And The Office was on. You know how I am about that show, Pete."

"Mhm." His interests in that mockumentary are Todd Packer, Pam, and Michael. In that order. In fact, he probably doesn't even know the storyline of the show; not a priority. "Well... Help me clean up. I wanna show you something."

"Show me something...?" The way Wade's blonde eyebrow cocks up in sly curiosity causes the stress in Peter's knees to slacken, and the young man can feel his cheeks burn as he stammers:

"Y-yes. Something. I want to show you. ...Something." _God, I'm an idiot._ He dispels the thought as soon as it crosses his mind - _No. You just want to make this work. You're just in love._ Mary Jane's voice shadows Peter's thoughts and distracts him from his self-deprecating remarks, but when he takes a step closer to Wade, when he reaches up on his tippy-toes to fold an arm over Wade's neck, the only thing he can make out is his heartbeat and Wade's breathing. Steady against crooked. Rhythm conjoined with chaos.

And Peter wants to cry in response to this perfect moment, but he doesn't. Because Wade is still. The discordance is calm for once; the cheap champaign and nylon rope in the grocery bag on the cluttered counter can wait for a minute- an hour- an eternity. Because Wade is looking down at Peter, his blue eyes soft and his scarred lips parted yet silent.

When they kiss it's gentle, their first purely affectionate kiss they've shared. It may also be their last, but Peter doesn't dare let his mind wander there right now. Because Wade tastes sweet instead of tough, and Peter feels happy.

For the first time since he threw away his future with Mary Jane Watson to lie in bed with Wade Wilson, Peter is happy in his decision. Standing in the middle of that disarrayed kitchen with Wade holding him close, Peter Parker knows that he isn't alone at all.


End file.
